


More Than Enough May-Hem To Go Around

by DixieDale



Category: Garrison's Gorillas
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-18
Updated: 2019-04-17
Packaged: 2020-01-15 16:23:43
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 17,314
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18502639
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DixieDale/pseuds/DixieDale
Summary: Just as April was 'All In All I'd Rather Be . . .' month, May was 'The Merry Month of May-Hem' in that odd and often eventful game the guys had going.But it looks like the game just got more complicated than the guys anticipated, including maybe a new player joining in.  Between the 'expert advice' being handed out so freely, the potentially lethal females, and a mysterious attack on Lieutenant Garrison, not to mention their latest mission across the Channel, it turns out there was more than enough 'may-hem' to satisfy even the most jaded of appetites on the team!





	1. As April Turns To May, A New Player Joins The Game

**Author's Note:**

> Follows immediately after 'All In All I'd Rather Be'.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> There were only a few hours left in the month of April, with May coming in at Midnight. Whoever would have thought just those few hours would be long enough for Craig Garrison to make an entry not only into the April game of 'All In All, I'd Rather Be. . .', but also a strong first play in the following 'Merry Month of May-Hem'. As Goniff remarks ruefully, "looks like the rest of us are gonna 'ave to step our game a little. Seems you just might 'ave a natural talent for it all."

HQ:  
It was late in the evening of April 30th, the very end of the 'All In All I'd Rather Be . . .' themed month of that outrageous calendar Actor and the guys had put together, and Lieutenant Craig Garrison was stuck in a smoky room at HQ with a dozen other team leaders, Handlers, and the newest bunch of 'experts' being brought in to teach them their jobs. Well, at least the meeting had given him sufficient justification for wrangling a twenty-four hour pass for his team; at least THEY could be enjoying themselves, and give Sergeant Major Rawlins a much deserved break. Lord knows the man needed it! April had been quite a strain on the nerves all around, Sergeant Major Gil Rawlins being no exception. Hopefully his men were also staying out of trouble, but with his guys, that was at best a fifty-fifty shot. 

{"Let's see, a fifty-fifty shot each with each of the four, add in a fifty-fifty shot for a team-up with Casino and Goniff; hell, make that seventy-five/twenty-five for those two, with the odds NOT in my favor. Then another fifty-fifty for the group as a whole."}. Calculating that in his head let Garrison know he had a slim chance of making it back to the Mansion without SOMETHING going wrong! He suppressed the groan that was just begging to come out. He was getting to be an expert at suppressing groans of various types, he realized.

The meeting was over within two hours, having lasted about two hours longer than was needful in Garrison's opinion. Collegiate-type efficiency experts explaining the best way to deal with active field operations, especially the kind of operations he and the other team leaders in the room had to deal with? Yeah, real productive! 

Almost as productive as the meeting several weeks ago with the psychology experts spouting some nonsense; he'd been really tempted to invite the three men to the Mansion and turn his guys loose on them and their 'building trust' exercises. {"Bet their heads would be swimming by the time they left!"} hiding a grin at the thought. 

His guys had already gone through their own 'building trust' exercises, and they had involved bullets flying and parachute drops and potentially deadly cons. NOT "now you just let yourself fall backwards, trusting that he'll catch you" bullshit. Casino and Goniff would have had a field day with that one, each finding something to distract them just at the last minute, offering an almost sincere 'oops!' as the one in front hit the floor. He could almost picture it, especially if one of the three 'trainers' were the ones in front! {"Oops, indeed!"}, once again having to fight a grin. He was going to have to stop doing that; someone was going to think he had developed a twitch. {"Maybe a rather perverted sense of humor, but not a twitch."}

Finally it was over. He did the obligatory brief socializing after the meeting, though bypassing the liquor after seeing the look on Ainsley's face after taking that first sip. If Alex thought it was bad, god knows what it tasted like; Ainsley was known to drink home brew that even Goniff might have given a pass. {"Well, considering what Goniff considers drinkable, at least in an emergency, maybe not,"} Garrison admitted to himself. 

Now he concentrated on plastering a smile on his face that he hoped didn't look nearly as insincere as it truly was. It had been totally beyond him to thank those three idiots and tell them just how 'valuable' their words and advice and 'exercises' had been, but at least he managed a polite smile and brief nod of his head at the introductions. 

He was half afraid that one of these days he just MIGHT open his mouth and explain EXACTLY how 'valuable' their words and advice were, and there'd go his career, along with his guys' future most likely. It was probably lucky Micah Davis had been out of earshot of the panel before he'd muttered HIS opinion; no one who DID hear was likely to mistake just how he felt. Reynolds looked like he was about ready to swallow his tongue in reaction; well, he'd served with enough Australians before to get the full impact.

"Spent too much time down on Frail Street, the three of them. Bloody pox's taken em, stupid dags, that's what it is; no other explanation, mates! Bleedin' pricks probably shrunk to the size of their brains; could fit either in me mum's thimble, most likely both!" Micah had exclaimed on his way out the door. Ainsley, always the polite one, at least in the presence of the up-and-ups, looked torn between laughing and agreeing heartily, and Garrison could only agree with both sentiments.

He acknowledged Major Richards' remark of "are you quite alright, Lieutenant? You seem a trifle flushed," with an apologetic nod. 

Kevin Richards was one of the better Handlers, one he and the guys actually trusted to a considerable extent. Not totally, no, but they didn't trust ANY of the Handlers a hundred percent; one DID learn from experience, after all, their own and the other teams'. He, Ainsley and Davis exchanged stories frequently, and some of them were just not pretty, never mind what his sister Lynn and the O'Donnell women had experienced with the Handlers and those giving the orders. Never mind Reynolds' last run-in with one of the new Handlers! Now that had been a nightmare they were all still talking about.

His mind drifted to the women now, his sister Lynn off somewhere, possibly in France considering the maps she'd come to review before she left. Meghada, at least, was in relatively safe territory, up in Scotland helping with some training. Ciena, and Coura? He didn't have a clue. Ciena was a full-blown Contract agent, of course, though Coura wasn't. Still, the younger O'Donnell sister did manage to see more than her share of the action; Richards firmly declared many of the new grey hairs he was showing could be put at her doorstep.

The major noted to himself that Garrison had a rather glassy look in his eyes. Well, Richards wouldn't have been surprised if he himself didn't wear a similar look. Of all the useless ways to spend three hours - one in the waiting around for the panel to all arrive, two key members being almost an hour late, and then another two hours listening to them prose on and on about things the supposed 'experts' obviously knew nothing about! 

He was just thankful these mandatory little 'learning opportunities' were for the Handlers and Team Leaders only. He could only imagine the reactions of some of the team members, even the ones OTHER than Garrison's guys. And the Contract agents? {"Oh my dear heavens! Meghada? Ciena? At least Coura isn't on that list; I can NOT imagine her reaction!! Or rather, I can, and it's truly terrifying!!"}

In fact, the major was surprised Micah Davis had kept his mouth shut as long as he had; the Australian team leader was excellent at his job, but had absolutely no tolerance for idiots, and had a vocabulary that was astounding in its depth and range, if rather unintelligible to those not familiar with the Australian manner of communicating. Now Garrison and Ainsley, they were generally more discreet, but Richards knew both of them well enough to know they couldn't have been buying any of the balderdash this 'committee' had been laying out. Anyone who ran a team knew that the concept of 'efficiency' went out the window as soon as boots hit the ground, to be replaced by a gritty determination to getting the job done and staying alive. Ainsley had looked bored; Garrison, well, perhaps just distracted, and, as he'd thought before, a trifle glassy eyed and flushed.

"No, it was just rather warm in there, and I'm perhaps a little tired," Garrison admitted, having NO intention of mentioning the real reason he was a little flushed. As soon as it was obvious the panel was ready to wind things up, with absolutely nothing of benefit coming of the whole wasted time, that daydream had reappeared and Garrison, if not the room, HAD gotten a little overheated. 

If nothing else, the experience had proved his self-control, at least to himself, since while he'd allowed the previous part of the daydream to replay in every detail, he had NOT allowed it to go any farther. Now, he just wanted to do the minimum in the way of gladhanding and get the hell back to the hotel where he could take a cold shower. Or maybe, skip the shower and continue the daydream and see just where it led. He admitted to himself that as a plan for the evening, perhaps that was fairly tepid stuff compared to what his guys were probably up to, what with him having only himself for company, but still, quite alluring at the moment. Especially that daydream. 

Richards had to wonder just a little at the faint smile of anticipation that had appeared on the young Lieutenant's face as he left HQ.

 

Hotel Marchant:  
"So, was it worthw'ile, or just more of the usual nattering on?" the wiry ashen blond Englishman asked from where he sat on the couch, leaning forward, elbows on knees, drink in hand, to give Garrison his full attention. 

Garrison hadn't been expecting to find Goniff when he'd climbed the stairs to his room on the second floor of Hotel Marchant; each of the guys had plans for the evening, along with instructions from HIM about what those plans should NOT involve, "including me having to bail you out!" The usual catcalls and innocent protests had been his response, much what he'd expected. 

What he HADN'T expected was to see any of them before the morning, well, not unless they'd gotten into trouble they couldn't get out of on their own. Certainly he hadn't been expecting Goniff, or he just might have come up with a reason to skip at least the socializing after that meeting, though he wouldn't have been able to avoid the meeting itself. Now it looks like he wouldn't have just himself for company; he didn't bother to restrain that smile anymore, there was no need. And it was a real smile this time, not the polite fascimile he'd been using all evening.

"Definitely in the 'nattering on' category. But what are you doing here? Thought you had plans," he asked, sipping gratefully at the surprisingly decent whiskey he'd been handed as soon as he walked through the door. Somehow Goniff must have broached Marchant's private stock, hopefully with Marchant's knowledge and consent, though with Goniff there was no guarantee of that.

"Thought you'd be at Maude's pub, or The Bull, or somewhere. Something to do with having a drink in congenial company with someone you don't get to see very often?" 

He refrained from mentioning he'd felt a little wistful at hearing that description. It wasn't that he DIDN'T spend time with Goniff, he did, but it was mostly on the job or at the Mansion, and only rarely at the Cottage when they both could come up with good excuses for being away at the same time. 

The Cottage - a place where they let down the walls that existed between them - a military officer, West Point graduate, team commander, and a Cockney pickpocket cum second story man, a member of Garrison's wild card team of cons. The place where they could just be THEM, without walls, without boundaries.

{"Thank goodness for Meghada and her benevolence, her kind acceptance of what has sprung into being beween the two of us! Especially considering how she feels about Goniff!"} Winging a fervent thought of thanks off to the redhead somewhere in Scotland at the moment, he returned his total focus to his companion.

"Oh, I did, I DO 'ave exactly those plans. And just like planned, I am currently 'aving a nice drink in congenial company, someone I don't get to see very often, at least, not private-like. Very attractive company, I might add," Goniff grinned, over the rim of his own glass. "Imagine we just might 'ave a right enjoyable time together, me and that congenial, attractive company."

Garrison swallowed heavily, seeing the gleam in the hazy blue eyes watching him so closely. "Funny you should mention that. To alleviate my boredom with their usual nonsense, I let my mind wander a bit, do a little daydreaming during the meeting. Rather interesting, I thought. Promising, too."

"Ah. Do tell," a curious grin appearing, only intensifying the look of mischief there on the other man's face.

And Garrison recounted his daydream, feeling that flush on his cheeks deepen as the speculative look on Goniff's face did the same.

A teasing note entered Goniff's voice, his voice a little huskier than usual, "don't know as 'ow I can quite picture it, you know? Best you walk me through it, step by step, let me get a better idea, ei? 'Ere, so you say it started with me leaning back against the wall, like this?" moving to rest with his back comfortably against an interior wall at the side of the room, taking his time wriggling into postion. "And you were w'ere?"

Turned out Goniff caught on quickly, and soon they'd reached the point where Garrison had had to stop due to the meeting.

"One kiss, leading to another, to another, to another . . ."

They experimented with that for awhile, before Goniff let out a deep breath, swallowed hard and commented, "coo, that's all a nice beginning, well enough. Now, just w'ere do you think all that nice beginning is leading, ei?"

Garrison would have answered, except the pounding in his head was keeping him from thinking of a sensible answer. It took the groan of frustrated annoyance from the Englishman to make the Lieutenant realize the pounding was someone knocking at the door to his room, not just his pulse. 

"Goniff . . ."

"I know, I know. Disappear. Lucky the connecting room is empty!" The pickpocket grumbled under his breath, as he fiddled the lock and slipped through the door, pulling it closed behind him.

Garrison ran his fingers through his hair, straightened his shirt and grabbed his jacket, draping it over his arm in front of him as if he were just taking it off, walked over to the door. 

"Room service, sir. Compliments of the management," the smiling waiter said, indicating the linen-draped rolling cart at his side. The contents looked promising, a large dome-covered platter, an assortment of smaller containers with lids, a bottle of wine. 

{"Damned nice of Henri, if a little off in the timing. Goniff will be thrilled! And come to think about it, I missed dinner myself."}. 

Garrison thought he knew all the staff at Hotel Marchant, but this one was someone quite unfamiliar to him. He mentally shrugged, figuring Henri had obviously taken on some new people since their last stay. He'd have to ask him for any particulars he might need to be aware of.

As Garrison stepped to one side to allow the man to push the cart into the room, Goniff listened with more than a little interest. Well, he'd had dinner a couple of hours ago, but a nice snack wouldn't go amiss. The question was, now, or later. He DID hate to interrupt Craig's train of thought, just when it was headed in such a lovely direction. 

He listened to the clatter of dishes and silverware, the quiet voices, then, the one sound that seemed very out of place - a thunk, then a heavy thud. A quick frown came to his face, a puzzled look.

Cracking the door, he viewed a scene quite unlike anything he would have expected at Marchants, Craig Garrison laid out unconscious on the floor, a grimly smiling man in a waiter's uniform, leaded sap in hand, reaching down to pull, push the officer onto the lower shelf of the delivery cart. Silently pushing the connecting door open, it took only a few silent steps, one quick moment to crash the convenient wine bottle over the man's head, sending the assailant to the floor half on top of Garrison. 

He was kneeling beside Garrison, checking the damage, when a movement at the door showed another man rushing in, gun in hand. Suddenly there was a small pistol in Goniff's hand, a splat! of quiet sound, and the man went down hard. Almost as hard as the look on the Englishman's face.

Short minutes after that quick phone call, Henri Marchant was in the room, along with his second in command, Josef. Shaking his head with disgust, Henri turned to Josef, waving at the men, at the food on the table, "find out how they got in here, where all this came from, immediately! We obviously have to work on our security; my partners will be livid, and I am most displeased myself." About the breach in security, about the attack on a favored guest, about the Clan's reaction, AND about the condition of the fairly new rug.

Josef was on the phone and had at least partial answers by the time Goniff and Henri had the one still-breathing intruder trussed with the cords from the draperies, and a groaning Garrison was perched on the couch, aching head in his hands.

"Room 316 called to complain their 'romantic dinner' never arrived, and Gene, who was delivering it, was just discovered, in his underwear, bound and gagged in a downstairs closet. He says he recognized the man who attacked him as a guest who checked in earlier today, Room 220, right across the hall. The man was accompanied by another, most probably that one," glancing at the still body on the rug, "who was given the adjoining room."

Henri glowered. In addition to everything else, he now had the guests in 316 upset, an injured waiter, and probably one romantic dinner bound for the garbage cans. 

"I am not sure how we are to deal with something like that, prevent it from happening again, not and still run the business, but we WILL do our best to find a way, I promise you, Lieutenant! Though I think we will be putting you in the private section in the future, just as we do your men, whenever there is room there at all. It seems the ability to attract trouble is not limited to your team. She's going to hold me responsible, you know, if anything happens to any of you while you're here. In the meanwhile, what do we do with this one? At least the one still breathing."

"HQ aint gonna like being woken up in the middle of the night, you know, 'aving to send someone over 'ere," Goniff reminded them, and Garrison had to agree. Well, it was a no win situation, of course. If they called HQ now, they'd get yelled at and it would probably take til morning before someone arrived to collect the intruders anyway. If they waited til morning to report, they'd get yelled at for the delay, and it would be MID-morning before someone arrived to collect the intruders. If they delayed, maybe they could get at least a few hours sleep before it all hit the fan. Just, what to do with the intruders?

"If I might suggest, Lieutenant, there is a small room, quite well secured, only one heavy door with a sturdy lock on the outside, no windows, and air vents of only five inches. It is behind the private section, so no one will be coming in through the front without alarms going off. I think this one would be quite safe there til morning, and Paul and Christopher can sleep on cots outside the door til then. They are both quite intelligent, quite reliable; they will not allow themselves to be tricked into opening the door. The other could be placed in the general storeroom, I would think; it's locked at night, and he's hardly going anywhere." 

They all took a long look at the motionless body, eyes staring into nothingness, small round hole squarely between those eyes. No, he wasn't going anywhere, not without outside assistance. Garrison knew damned well HE hadn't shot the man, which left Goniff, and that led to a few other questions, none of which he intended to ask in front of witnesses. Even Henri and Josef, both of whom he trusted, considering their connection to Clan O'Donnell. Still, he was going to need some answers before anyone from HQ arrived asking questions of their own.

Garrison nodded, slowly. "That sounds fine, Henri. Thanks. And can you have those two rooms secured, the ones they were originally given? Goniff, go check for anything they might have brought with them, anything to identify them, and report back here." And soon it was done, with Henri reporting back that all was in order, prisoner, body and rooms all well secured for the night.

Goniff, having returned with the briefcases each man had carried, nothing with immediate import being discovered within, looked with considerable regret at the spread laid out on the table. "Don't suppose we can take a chance on eating any of that. Seems a waste, but then, they might 'ave decided if they couldn't take you one way, they'd try another." Shame, he was feeling right peckish.

Henri Marchant shook his head, "no, it would be best not to risk them having tampered with it. And the kitchen is going to be hard pressed to replace that for the guests in 316. However, there are a few things tucked away in the pantry up in the private quarters that I believe could partly make up for the loss. I am sure the owners will have no objections, not for you. Josef and I will clear this, and make arrangements. In perhaps half an hour?"

"That sounds wonderful, Henri," Garrison admitted. "But could you include a couple of aspirin?"

"Of course, Lieutenant. In fact, Goniff, why don't you escort the Lieutenant to the private section, the Dove, right now? It might be best to have him in a different room for the night. And, Lieutenant? It might be best if Goniff stays there for the night, just in case? I will personally bring your tray there shortly; I am sure there will be enough for both of you. We can direct your other men up to you in the morning." The bland smile on the hotelier's face was all that could be expected of someone in his profession.

They were settled in, just finishing the simple but appetizing repast Henri had brought them. Goniff leaned back and gave a wry smile. 

"You know, Craig, if you're gonna start joining in with that Theme of the Month thing, looks like I'd better warn the guys that you're gonna liven things up a bit. W'at with your 'All In All I'd Rather Be' imaginings, and now," looking at the clock on the wall indicating it was 1:00 AM, May 1st, "with THIS little entry into the 'Merry Month of May-'em', looks like the rest of us are gonna 'ave to step our game a little. Seems you just might 'ave a natural talent for it all."

Garrison gave a reluctant laugh, "just stop right there! The last thing any of us need is for you and the guys to 'step up your game'. I'm not sure the Sergeant Major would survive! Let's just consider this a one-off; I can't see me making it a habit!"

He took one more drink from his wine glass, and then seemed to have second thoughts. "Although, that 'All In All I'd Rather Be' entry DID get rudely interrupted. Any chance of a do-over for that one?" he asked, watching the delighted grin coming to Goniff's face.

"Wouldn't 'ave it any other way; why, wouldn't seem fair otherwise, w'at with it not being your fault and all. Now, just w'ere were we? Ah, yes. I remember now."


	2. "See, It Was Like This . . ."

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> When is a clear, concise, honest explanation NOT? When Goniff is the one delivering it, of course.

The guys came drifting into Hotel Marchant soon after sunrise, just in time to be directed to the private section to join Garrison and Goniff taking a leisurely breakfast in the small sitting room that, along with the bedroom, made up the 'Dove Suite' in the private section. 

"Hey, what's up?" Casino asked, pulling up a chair. "Guy at the front desk said there was trouble?"

"Well, nothing we couldn't 'andle," Goniff replied smoothly. 

"You mean YOU couldn't handle," Garrison remarked ruefully, easing his hand over that still-sore spot on the back of his head. "I was more dead-weight than anything else."

And over the hot breakfast from the cart Josef himself rolled into the room, the guys heard all about the fake waiter, that elaborate meal that had to be thrown away, the body in the general storeroom, and the slightly more active one in that secured room Henri Marchant had offered up. Yes, that left out quite a lot, but they heard everything that was relevant to anyone other than Garrison and Goniff.

"Any idea why, Craig?" Actor asked with a frown, having ascertained that the lump on Garrison's head was still probably rather painful but not dangerous. "We are not involved in anything on the domestic scene that I am aware of. Or am I mistaken about that?"

"No, and hopefully HQ can get some information from the one still breathing."

"What were you doing here anyway, Goniff? Thought you had plans," Chief asked blandly, just a hint of a twinkle deep in his dark eyes. He'd had a feeling about last night, just something about the look in his teammate's eyes, that sly little 'trying not to grin' quirk at the corner of his mouth.

Goniff shrugged, "didn't work out. Just got back in time to catch the action, you know."

"Can't believe the little Limey actually offed the other guy," Casino said. "What happened to that shaky aim of yours, Goniff? Josef says you got him right between the eyes."

"Yes, Goniff, quite impressive marksmanship," Actor commented, with a curious look.

Goniff grinned sheepishly, and flushed, "well, see, I was aiming at 'is shoulder, and well . . . Oh, come on, guys, you know 'ow it is!"

Chief have a brief huff of almost-laughter. "Don't tell us. You had your eyes shut again!" There had been a time when he would have believed that, just not anytime recently. Well, some men showed how dangerous they were right up front; Chief was one of that sort, as was Casino. Goniff, well, he hid all that inside. Each way had its own advantage, as he and the Englishman had discussed a time or two; their own way was what worked best for them.

The Englishman flushed, "can't 'elp it sometimes, Chiefy. It's just a reflex, you know??" 

Of course, it wasn't, and they hadn't been, closed, that is, but it was probably better if he kept with what they expected from him. Sides, if the other one had come around, which admittedly wasn't likely considering how hard he'd bashed him, it could have gotten sticky trying to deal with both of them still with fight in them and Garrison down and out. Yeah, it was better this way.

"Anyway, was telling the Warden, if 'e's gonna start getting . . ." only to be interrupted by a brisk clearing of the throat from Garrison. A look of sly mischief briefly flashed across Goniff's face, only to be replaced by one of total innocence.

"Gonna start getting what?" Casino asked with a puzzled frown, pouring himself a cup of coffee.

"Ah, never mind, Casino. Forgot w'at I was going to say. 'Ere, 'ave some more toast? There's a bit of red currant jam left, too; tastes like that last batch Gaida made - came from the private stock, so just might be. 'Ope she brings more of the makings back with 'er; said she gets the currants from up round Logan's place. Remember those lovely jam tarts she made awhile back? Coo!! Now, tell us about your night. Anything exciting? And, any ideas for the month? It's May, you know!"

Garrison quickly stepped in to suggest they just might skip the Merry Month of May-Hem, at least til he checked with HQ about what little adventures they had in store for the team. 

"You just might get more than enough mayhem to go around, maybe all the mayhem you can handle!" he told them dryly.

That brought some half-hearted grumbles, but they turned their conversation to their probably highly-edited renditions of their previous night's activities. At least no bail money had been involved this trip, and even Casino's rueful acknowledgement that Maggie (Magnus) McPhee's Bar was now off-limits "to me AND any of my friends" by personal orders of Maggie himself didn't dampen the slightly jovial mood too much, even with the indignant protest from Goniff of "w'at the 'ell did you do, Casino? Aint no easier-going bloke than ole Maggs!"

That mood WAS dampened by the arrival of Major Richards and a team of MP's, but that was only to be expected. No one had expected anyone at HQ to be thrilled at the notion that a military officer, a Special Forces team leader at that, had been the subject of an attempted abduction. And one of the two villains being dead didn't improve Richards' temperament one little bit, though at least he wasn't jumping to the conclusion that this was somehow Garrison's men's fault, like some at HQ would have done.

Richards had listened to the recounting of events, had been thorough in his questioning, including just how Goniff came to be so ready on the scene. However, few would have doubted the story he was given, that is, if they understood it, considering the amount of Cockney cant thrown into the mix, not with that mixture of downright sincerity and sheer cluelessness on Goniff's face. But, to boil it down, and translated . . .

"Well, see, Major, it went something like this. Intended to spend the evening with some congenial company, maybe over at a place I know, if you know w'at I mean," a sly, even lascivious smirk showing loud and clear on his gamin face. "But on the way over, got distracted by this pretty little piece over on Flora Lane, and by the time I made my way over toward Maude's for a drink, there was this skirt I used to know back in the day w'at wanted to get reacquainted, and w'en I finally stuck my 'ead in the door over at Maudie's, I realized that, w'at with one thing and another, I was a little low in the pockets, ya know? So I figured I'd make my way back 'ere, see if one of the guys 'ad come back, to see if I could tap them for a loan, but seeing as they 'adn't, I thought the Lieutenant 'ere, being an understanding sort, for an officer that is, 'e might spare me a few quid to continue on with the night. But once I got 'ere, found all sorts of commotion, the Lieutenant down for the count, the one bloke getting ready to tuck 'im up on the cart. Figured I'd better take a 'and or I'd never get back to my frollicking, so I bashed that guy with a bottle, then the OTHER bloke waltzed in with a gun, and there was that little popper, and I kinda missed my mark, ya see? Anyone can tell you, that just aint my strong suit. Then all 'ell broke loose, and I never DID get back outside. Ei, Major, think you might okay us extending this little twenty-four 'our leave, considering 'ow this one got interrupted?" That wide-eyed, innocently hopeful look on Goniff's face was one Garrison was quite familiar with, had to restrain a snort at seeing now. 

Somehow, anyone listening might have gotten the impression Goniff had spent a goodly amount of time out on the streets and surrounds before returning to the hotel, rather than those encounters being a fast how-de-do to another quick-fingers from the old days, Lucy Ann Bowers, wife to the bartender at The Bull, while handing off a packet of the ready to send along for that youngster he'd rescued from the streets - "just in case 'e needs something special-like" - and a quick hug and kiss to the cheek to old Auntie Lou who cleaned up after Rumble's Roundhouse closed down for the night and who'd cleaned HIM up a time or two after he'd taken a right bashing. Actually, he'd been waiting in Garrison's room for most of the time Garrison had been caught up in that meeting, whiling away his time with a deck of cards, nursing one glass of the whiskey he'd snaffled from Henri's stock. Oh, he'd left payment for it, which he wouldn't have done if this hadn't been Marchant's, but didn't ask up front, not wanting to be explaining what he was doing here in the first place. Oh, well. Opportunities like this one didn't come along nearly often enough, and he hadn't been about to waste it on a meaningless night on the town.

Though Richards DID have that uneasy feeling that he was being conned, or at least only being given part of the story, he decided to let it go. While he was uncomfortable with what Goniff was implying about his plans, knowing the odd, and to his mind, highly inappropriate relationship between the Cockney and Meghada O'Donnell, he had a feeling he'd be even MORE uncomfortable if he was actually told the whole truth. Like just where that 'little popper' really came from, how Goniff had gotten into the room without the assailant being aware - oh, a few little items that didn't quite line up in his mind. Still, he told himself that Garrison would have corrected any really blatant lies, well, at least if they were relevant, and just let it go.

Garrison could only listen with appreciation at the tale unfolding, wondering how many times he'd listened to similar stories from the slender Englishman and had so naively taken them for granted. Well, that had been more in the early days, but he was sure that, even with his strong streak of skepticism, he'd been taken in far too often.

The prisoner, the body of the second assailant, and the personal belongings of each had been delivered into the hands of the MP's and taken away, Richards delaying only long enough to sternly inform Goniff that "no, unfortunately your leave can NOT be extended. I believe there is a job waiting for you and your friends." 

He'd then turned to Garrison with a "if you could join me at HQ, Lieutenant. The file and related materials are there, in my office. And I believe your men should follow along, keep themselves available; this is rather immediate, you see, and there is a good chance you'll be heading out rather quickly. You can phone the Sergeant Major once you get the details, and he can bring whatever you might need; far more efficient than you or your men heading back and having to turn right around again."

Later, in his office, they'd discuss the possiblity that the attack had been connected to the newest mission, but even with both of them focusing on it, they couldn't really see how it could be. Well, Richards would continue looking into that matter while Garrison and his team went to deal with the situation in Toulouse. Aubert Bize really could not be allowed to continue his operation; they simply HAD to find out the names of his undercover operatives operating behind Allied lines!

Making his notes of what he needed in the way of maps, supplies, Garrison hurried to the vacant office where his team was waiting. They listened while he made the call to Sergeant Major Rawlins. 

"That's right, as soon as possible. Chief's extra blades, our usual kits, that pouch of motion sickness herbs for Goniff from the tin in my middle desk drawer. For me, a copy of File 17, Sector B." 

Garrison and Rawlins were always carefully not to discuss actual destinations over the phone lines; while Casino swept the Mansion frequently for bugs and line taps, who the hell knew about HQ!!! Meghada had once told Richards with more than a little disgust, "Eva Braun probably listens to tapes of the conversations around here along with her afternoon schnapps!" They'd both memorized the map codes, and Garrison was confident that when he opened the pouch he'd have the right copy at his fingertips. He really WAS lucky in his Sergeant Major!

Actor leaned back in his chair; he'd memorized those codes as well. "So, France. Toulouse? Or somewhere thereabouts?"

"Exactly. Here's the setup. Now, gather round," Garrison motioned to his men.

And there they were again, headed off to pull a con, or get their heads shot off, depending on their skills and their luck.

Richards stood at his window, later that day, watched them roar away in a jeep headed for their transport. Sighing, he turned to his Aide, Jeffrey Ames. 

"Let's go see what we can learn from our new guest, shall we, Jeffrey?" 

If the attack hadn't been connected to the Bize mission, well, it had to be connected to SOMETHING, and it was vital that he discover just what. Who knew what could depend on that information??! 

Whatever he'd anticipated hearing in that interview, it was a far cry from the story he was given. He had plenty of time to ponder over that little surprise while waiting for the team to return. 

{"Not exactly what I would have expected from our Lieutenant Garrison, I must admit. I wonder if there is any possibility of that story actually having any truth to it?"}. 

Whichever way it turned out, it was going to be awkward at best for the American Lieutenant; for his Cockney pickpocket, well, awkward was the very least of it from appearances. After all, there was a dead body to account for.


	3. Dangerous Women

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Waiting was the pits. Waiting for the pilot to give the the word to jump. Waiting for everyone to make it back safely from whatever part of the mission they'd been tasked with. Waiting to find out if it had all just hit the fan.
> 
> Sometimes all that helped was distraction, sometimes in the form of conversation or, just as often, arguing. And if dangerous women sometimes came to the forefront of that conversation, well, that was only to be expected. They had each met their share, after all, though they were rapidly deciding Actor was topping the list. This mission wasn't going to do anything to change their minds about that!

"So, France again. Think we're ever gonna see the place sometime when we're NOT gettin shot at?" Casino wondered out loud on the long airplane ride from the airbase closest to London. It was a very casual attempt at conversation, something to alleviate the worry and fretting that could come with waiting for jump time to be called.

"Sure 'ope so, Casino. Gaida 'as these French cookbooks, at least two of them, from that bookstore she likes, and some of that sounds right nice. Says she's gonna maybe make some of it one of these days. There's this sweet thing, sort of a custard, you actually set the top on fire before you eat it! Coo, imagine that!" 

"Actually, Goniff, many sweets are served that way," Actor chimed in; he would have preferred to talk of the glories that were located in the French museums in Toulouse, but that would have led him to the depressing realization that many of those treasures were being looted at the behest of the German officers. So, rather than worry about that and the mission ahead, he indulged his penchant for showing off his knowledge about so very many different things, and at the same time indulging their little pickpocket. "The flame, the heat, carmelizes the topping, intensifies the flavor and the texture." 

They all spent the next ten minutes listening to a description of the same, and only Goniff really had much interest in what was being said. Still, it served to pass some of the time, and interest in the conversation seemed to keep Goniff's airsickness, and his worry about what lay ahead, at bay for awhile, at least til Meghada's herb mixture could take effect.

Chief listened to their voices, but mostly occupied himself considering possible changes to his knife sheath, wondering if he could get Meghada to introduce him to her metalcraft expert, the one who'd made that specialty set for him. There were some questions he wanted to ask about the angle of the blades on that fan-like weapon. It was as good a way to get through the waiting as any, and better than most, to his way of thinking. 

Casino was going over what Garrison had told them about Toulouse, remembering all Beautiful had told them about the tiny but beautiful and aristocratic Michelle he'd known there once. Well, no surprise there; Beautiful had 'known' a beautiful someone or the other in just about every place anyone mentioned. Casino didn't dispute that, just figured if HE'D ever gotten to Toulouse, HE'D have known a beautiful someone or other too. Maybe not as aristocratic, but shit! Having that tacked on to the description didn't make em any better in bed than anyone else, not to HIS mind! He glanced at his watch one more time. Sheesh, how much longer??!

Garrison listened with half an ear to the desultory conversations, smiling at Goniff's enthusiasm for Actor's description of creme brulee, but spent his waiting time going over the plan, the maps, the possibilities. 

{"Aubert Bize, minor aristocrat. Thinking to use the war to move upward in the social and political scheme of things. His wife, Giselle, beautiful, seductive and utterly vicious, even more ruthless than her husband. Wonder if Actor ever met her? He didn't seem to recognize the name. That's always the risk with Actor - he knows so many people, has gone by so many names, so many identities. And anymore, a lot of other people are doing the same. War seems to be an ideal opportunity for re-inventing yourself. Well, I've found that out; even if you don't do it intentionally, war has a way of changing things, or maybe just clarifying things. Still, with Actor, it's just good that he seems to roll with it, can come up with a good story when his past meets our present."}

He came back to the present when the pilot yelled, "drop point coming up. Get ready!" He hated waiting as much as the guys did, but at least it gave him some extra time to get things together in his mind. That was better than dwelling on all the things that could go wrong, dwelling on the fact that these men's lives were depending on him being at his best, giving his all. A flash of longing for NOT having such responsibility hit suddenly, and he glanced around at them. Actor, Casino, Chief . . . Goniff. But, he DID have the responsibility, and he was going to damned well give it, give THEM, everything he had. He WOULD bring them back alive! 

He dared send one fast glance down to the slender figure seated at the far end of the opposite bench, let just the slightest smile quirk the corner of his mouth, the faintest touch of warmth hit his eyes. The almost nonexistent smile, the look was returned, along with the tiniest of nods; it would be the last such personal 'touch' either would allow themselves til the mission was over. He watched as Goniff tipped his head back against bulkhead and drew a deep breath, then resolutely reached down to start hooking up for the jump. Garrison and the others followed suit. It had begun.

 

The subject of their being banned from Maggie's place came up later, when they were sprawled on bare boards in the attic of an abandoned house waiting for Garrison to get back from a rendezvous with the local Resistance leader. Garrison had gone alone, the leader being the skittish type; no one liked it, but it was what it was. 

Of course, a woman had been involved. Well, it WAS Casino, after all.

"Just sitting on that barstool at the end, pretty as you please, twisting around and around and around, like she just couldn't sit still, giving me the gladeye. What was I supposed to do?" 

Goniff wasn't buying it, any of it, and it was just light enough for his facial expression to make that as clear as his body language and words did. In his opinion, Casino thought with the wrong head far too much of the time. 

{"Gonna get 'imself killed one a these days, no matter w'at anyone does to try and stop it!"}. 

Of course, he realized there were those who, if they knew the whole of his own complicated relationships, would have said the same about him, but in his mind, that was all different. Wasn't like Goniff was just looking for the next available toss; with him, them, it was different. Complicated, maybe. Confusing as hell, certainly. But not casual, NOT just an available toss! 

A harsh cynical voice inside questioned whether that was true or not, questioned a few other things as well. He slapped the voice hard across the mouth. He wanted what he'd found too ruddy much to let a voice inside his head start spewing doubts, messing things up. Besides, that voice sounded a hell of a lot like the bastard what had been married to his mum, his 'father', at least in name. He'd heard all he wanted from that sod in his younger days, wasn't of a mind to hear anymore now.

He brought his mind back to chewing out his teammate.

"Told you, Casino, told ALL of you, keep your eyes and your 'ands off Lola. Pointed 'er out, I did, when I said it and everything, just so you'd know for sure which one I was meaning, too. Don't just talk to 'ear my own voice, ya know?? She's Maggie's daughter, she is, and 'e's right protective about 'er." 

Goniff was considerably annoyed at having his good advice, given for the benefit of his teammates out of his vast experience in London's shadier areas, so completely ignored by the brash safecracker. He'd paid for that knowledge with a hell of a lot of hard work, and a goodly amount of blood and pain, in many cases; made no SENSE to just go ignoring it like that!

"Hell, the way she was acting, he's got his job cut out, that's all I can say! Simpering, and staring, and giving these little waves and smiles and air kisses, leaning over to give me a good look of the goods! What the hell was I supposed to do?!" Casino was on the defensive. 

{"Hell, just cause HE'S got a warm bed waiting right close at hand don't give him the right to go yelling when we go looking for the same!"}. 

Yeah, he knew what he'd been looking for wasn't anything like that warm bed Goniff had waiting for him at the Cottage, but frankly, he wasn't looking for anything like that either. He might not understand what was going on between their pickpocket and the redhead, but one thing for sure, he didn't want anything that would tie him down, make him overlook other options. Hell, Goniff had even started skipping some of the passes the Warden managed to get them, just to stick around Brandonshire. This last one was the first in the last three or four he'd even come along on, and look where that ended!

"Supposed to do w'at I ruddy well told you, that's w'at! Yeah, Lola lays it all out there, and wouldn't be surprised if she's not something else between the sheets, if she's a mind to be. But she's got this little, well, quirk, you might say, when a guy gets maybe a little rougher than she likes it, or don't talk as sweet as w'at she's wanting to 'ear, and maybe a bit more, depending on w'atever she's looking for at that particular time. Maggs tries to steer clear any w'at she really takes a fancy to that 'e's not real sure of understanding all that; got tired of finding places to dump the bodies, I imagine." 

He ignored the dropped jaws and stares he was getting from the others, and went on to clarify.

"Quite a dab 'and with a knife, little Lola; seen 'er work a time or two a few years back when Maggs needed an extra 'and to carry the load, and have to say she's thorough if not particularly neat. She was just maybe fifteen or sixteen then; imagine she's learned a few new tricks since then. Just don't want any of you being the one she's practicing them on, that's all!" 

The guys took a quick vote, just with their eyes but that was all that was necessary. Maggie McPhee's was now strictly off-limits, by Maggie's directive and by their own sense of self-preservation. Surely even Casino saw the wisdom of that. 

 

The meeting had gone well, Garrison back full of plans for creating all kinds of trouble for that new German commander and his cronies, along with getting that list of behind the lines operatives from Monsieur Bize. 

The big down-side? The underground leader, Gustave, had a very good description of Bize and his wife. Actor had looked startled, then more than a little apprehensive at Garrison's description of Madame Bize. 

As the tall Italian explained, "from what Gustave described, Madame Bize, Giselle, is none other than Michelle Flauneau. I would have preferred it to be otherwise, but the description is just too close for it to be anyone else. Tiny, barely five foot one, if that. Really quite beautiful, black ringlets, eyes to match. Truly, a soul to match, Craig. This will be challenging; she is highly intelligent, unbelievably ambitious, and with no hesitation to do whatever it takes to obtain what she wants. If she has any scruples at all, I never saw any indication of such. She will recognize me, there is no doubt, and while we parted on not-unfriendly terms, she will not hesitate to betray me if it suits her purpose. She would probably betray her own mother if it suited her purpose." Actually her mother was the one person she WOULDN'T have betrayed, that person being the one who'd taught Madame Bize all she knew, but Actor wouldn't have known that. And Madame's mother, unlike sweet Lola's paternal parent, actively encouraged her daughter's more extreme expressions of her 'passionate' nature.

That got a groan from everyone listening. 

"Ya know, Beautiful, you may know how to pick em for looks, but otherwise, you can pick some real doozies," Casino complained, and Garrison could hardly disagree. More than one or two of the women from Actor's past had severe personality defects, to say the least. 

"'Ave to say 'e's got a point, Actor," Goniff agreed with a wicked grin.

Chief cleared his throat carefully, and said with just a trace of a smile, "um, Teresa Marie D'Angelo? Not to mention Lola McPhee? And, Goniff, what about Amy Ann Collins? And Connie? Don't think Actor's alone in picking some doozies."

Well, of course, that got them going, Casino protesting that Teresa Marie had just been real enthusiastic, Goniff chiming in that he didn't think a ghost should be held to the same standards as 'someone walking around breathin and all'. 

"And wasn't like I picked Connie, neither, you know. That was all 'er idea, and barely got out of that one intact. Coo, she 'ad maybe thirty years on me back then; that was never my thing."

Garrison, not having been in on that night at the pub when the guys had been describing women of their past, just gave them all the fish-eye, (although sooner or later he WAS going to want an explanation of that 'ghost' comment of Goniff's), and called them back to discussing the plan, in light of this new wrinkle.

 

Two nights later:

Casino was trying to remember the details of that hot night with the big bleached blonde in Chicago - Becky, Betty, Boopsie, whatever her name was. No, come to think of it, it was Carla, Carla Karplosky. 'Becky' and 'Betty' was what she insisted on calling her twin attractions, 'Becky' being the one on the left. They were each big enough to deserve a name of their own, he had to admit that. All that seemed like a lifetime away. Well, he had to do something to distract himself from worrying about what Garrison and Beautiful were up to. Anyone with any sense would have know better than to just waltz into that party like they owned the joint, especially with that broad knowing their teammate and all, but not the Warden and Beautiful, oh, no, not them!

Chief had his knife in his hand, savoring the feel of the hilt in his palm, occasionally stroking the fingers of his other hand along the flat of the blade. It calmed him, as it almost always did. Now, if the other two would just get back, they could get moving. He hated being stuck in one place like this, especially someplace dark and cold like this one. At least the guys were here; it wasn't like he was alone.

Goniff was grumbling under his breath, his blue eyes darting here and there through that broken window glass, watching for the two men. "Don't touch the sparklies, Goniff. Keep your 'ands off anything I don't point you to snaffling, Goniff. Leave the wine bottles alone, Goniff. No, we aint gonna stop for a bite to eat, Goniff! Ruddy 'ell, might as well be back in prison for all the fun THIS trip is turning out to be!" His eyes never stopped sweeping the area outside all the while he was muttering to himself. {"Come on!!! Should 'ave been back by now!"}

They each handled worry in a different way; Goniff chattered and complained. It was just his way. You ask him later what he was talking about, he wouldn't have a clue; he wasn't really listening to himself, and didn't necessarily expect you to be either.

Chief shot a forbidding glare in his direction, and breathed "you don't keep your trap shut, we'll all be wishing we was back in prison! Those soldiers can't be more than twenty yards away!"

Goniff rolled his eyes in the darkness, but his words came as scarcely louder than a breath, "and shut your trap, Goniff! W'at's next, yer breathin too loud, Goniff??!"

Casino leaned in to whisper in his ear, "don't worry, we start thinking that and I'll take care of that little problem for you real quick, ya dumb Limey! Shut! Up!"

They'd been waiting for most of the night for Garrison and Actor to return. They'd taken turns napping, but this close to the time Garrison had hoped to be back, no one was sleeping. To the very man, they HATED waiting! It had all their nerves stretched to the snapping point. There were just too many things that could go wrong, things they wouldn't know about til it was too late. 

At one time, back at the very beginning, they would have worried mostly that the only two men with the exit plans firmly in their minds were the two off somewhere at that big party with all the German officers and local French dignitaries. That, if those two didn't make it back, the three of them, none of them knowing more than a smattering of French or German, none of them able to speak it with any hope of passing for a local or one of the soldiers, would be left on their own with the odds enormously against their chances of escaping. Not to mention the chill welcome they'd find if they did, by some miracle, make it back to England without Garrison.

Now? Now, they kept that in the back of their minds, of course, not being idiots, but their first thoughts were of the men themselves, their leader, their teammate.

The faint whistle of a bird-call snapped Chief's head around to the left. 

"Get ready. They're headed in. Hope they saw that patrol out there!" 

He gave a slight whistle in return, adding a couple of trills to give a warning in addition to the recognition. Carefully they headed out the back, circling around to join, hopefully, the two men returning from the 'easy' part of the mission. That was a discussion each of them had had, both with themselves and with each other, which was the easier part, the being out there, in danger, DOING something, or the waiting. 

Garrison had that grim smile of satisfaction on his face, and Actor had a certain air of triumph about him as well. At the sight of the two men, the three who'd been waiting let out a sigh of relief. They were back, and from the looks of it, things had gone according to plan. That meant one more day, one more night, would see the job done, the list in hand and the German officer in charge of security in disgrace.

Hopefully nothing had happened that had given Garrison any bright ideas for a side-mission; he was just as apt to do that as not. And while the guys found various opportunities for little side-jobs of their own, their's were likely to involve suitably portable disposable assets to add to their retirement accounts; Garrison's were more likely to involve something likely to get them killed, in their worthy estimation. 

Their hopes were in vain; Garrison had indeed seen something that aroused his curiosity, and that was something that usually meant they weren't going home just yet. This time was no exception, though not because of that little side-job. No, it was just that their original plan was about to be shot to hell.


	4. Round and Round She Goes, Where She Stops . . . "Well, That's The Problem, Ain't It, Now?"

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "This is not a woman you want to take at face value," Actor warned. How true, how true.

"And the broad, she recognized Beautiful here? And didn't say anything? Any idea why?" Casino asked. 

"She seemed to accept his cover story, at least on the face of it. Trouble is, we don't know whether that's really true or not," Garrison admitted.

"Well, it would seem quite reasonable to her, Craig," Actor responded. "After all, re-inventing myself? Trying to play both sides against the middle, to my own advantage? Isn't that much what she and her husband are attempting to do? Oh, she is not gullible, not in the least, and would hardly be willing to TRUST me; but I don't see her interferring unless it is to her distinct advantage. And the story we told her? It gave a very broad hint that it would be far MORE to her advantage to step back and watch, bide her time. Hopefully, by the time she decides to do otherwise, we will have accomplished our mission and be far from here."

"Yeah, hopefully," Casino snorted. "If ya don't mind, I'm not gonna place too strong a bet on that little scenario, Beautiful. You and your women, sometimes . . ."

No one was going to place any bets on that, at least not AGAINST him, which rather defeated the entire purpose of betting in the first place. 

And just as well, because by whatever name she was calling herself, the lovely black-haired little woman had seen an opportunity to advance her own position, using the aristocratic-looking man she'd once known, and had no intention of biding her time. No, she intended to strike while she had the advantage of surprise. The only question was whether she intended to let Aubert in on this new development. After all, she was getting more than a little tired of him. She would sit down over a glass of wine and contemplate her options, which might work best now, which might advance her future goals to the better. 

She would have liked to have written everything down, but there was too much activity, servants here, there and everywhere. All the guests. Seeing something that looked a little odd is one thing, but written proof? No, she was far too cunning for that. Anyway, Aubert might come in, without knocking as usual, the boor. The man actually thought he was the one in charge, and for the moment she needed to let him continue in his self-deception.

General Krause might enter unexpectedly as well. The looks, the sly innuendo, the teasing touch of his hand all pointed in that direction. And perhaps she wouldn't mind so very much; at least Krause looked like he might have some stamina to him, unlike Aubert these days. 

Of course, there was also a flatness in the General's eyes that let her know the man was likely to turn vicious in a flash, and while she didn't mind things getting a little vigorous, she'd never responded well to a harsh hand. And she had a feeling Krause wouldn't be content for her to be a partner in bed OR in the business, especially the dominant partner as she was with Aubert in both cases. 

No, he would look on her as a subordinate, and while she might occasionally play that part when need be, it wasn't a role that came naturally to her, and not one she'd play longterm. Krause could not be allowed to get the upper hand here, latch onto the power that was meant to be hers and hers alone. Slowly her plans shifted, new possibilities came into view, and she felt the excitement, the anticipation build.

Her mind drifted back to Lorenzo, the man from her past who'd reappeared so unexpectedly. Now, he had been rather luscious, as she remembered. Stamina, skill, grace, with just the right amount of firmness but never harshness. Yes, she wouldn't mind another sampling there. He was older than he had been, of course, but there was a feel about him that reassured her that he'd lost little of what had made him so appealing.

And the man he'd been with, Karl, the green-eyed blond. Ummm, now he looked like he'd be something rather special as well. More vulnerable, perhaps, which led to thoughts of activities she rarely indulged in these days. 

She leaned back in her slipper chair, eyelashes now hiding those dark eyes, thinking, expanding her plans far beyond what she'd originally considered. {"Ridding myself of Aubert, without drawing accusations or blame to myself. While retaining all of our assets, of course! Gaining control over the dear General, and if that is not possible, neutralizing him. Solidifying my position as the one who has sole control over all those lovely, lovely agents in the field, the one who must be bargained with to obtain their services. And perhaps, just perhaps, allowing myself some well-deserved treats along the way," remembering Lorenzo and those green-eyes and the lean body of Lorenzo's companion.

Her definition of a suitable well-deserved treat was perhaps not what most would have guessed. Her family was fiercely proud of being French, she considered herself a true Daughter of France, and she and all that remained of her family were devoted followers of the man they considered one of its greatest national treasures, Donatien Alphonse Francois, Marquis de Sade. {"Such a truly intuitive man!"}

She smiled over the possibilities. Oddly enough, anyone watching her would have noted a flatness in her eyes to equal any she'd remarked in the General.

By the time she'd finished her second glass of wine, she had a plan in place. A plan she was pleased enough with that she even welcomed Aubert with some degree of honest enthusiasm when he joined her later, even when he expressed his concern over "those two men", saying he didn't trust them, wanted to know more about her connection to them. The idiot was actually pouting, thinking to command her cooperation in an attempt to learn more about Lorenzo and his companion. 

She was careful not to let Aubert look too carefully into her eyes as they shared a glass or two of wine, distracting him by allowing the tie to her dressing gown to slowly come undone. {"So very predictable."}. She was an expert, was able to coax him out of his sullen, suspicious mood, delivering all the little touches and assurances, all the whispers and promises that he so appreciated. 

Whether he appreciated the deep scratches left by her long nails was debatable; the dose she'd fed him in that first glass of wine, while enhancing his appetites, had dulled his senses somewhat, to where it was doubtful he felt them quite so much as he would have otherwise. That was before it stopped his heart from beating entirely, of course. 

Laying flat on her back next to his body, waiting for her breathing to slow to something more its usual rate, she smiled up at the crystal light above the bed. {"Ah, it just doesn't get any better than that! Dear Aubert, you were truly at your finest, there at the end!"}. 

She'd timed it well, so that his final climax had come neck and neck with his final breath, and her climax had come only seconds later, watching eagerly as his eyes widened with shock, at the realization of what was happening, and then dimmed as death took firm hold.

Somehow, though, she wasn't TOTALLY satisfied, and she let her hands stray, to recreate the best moments of the last hour. Frowning, she realized she needed more than that, and her smile returned as she brought Lorenzo and his friend to her thoughts, brought them into the game. Soon her breathing was as taut as her arching body, and the climax that crashed through her was every bit as satisfying as what 'Dear Aubert' had been able to deliver. {"But nowhere near as satisfying as I believe those two can deliver in the very near future,"}, and she laughed to herself, imagining once again all the possibilities.

Now, to sleep for an hour or so, before she summoned the two most loyal of the servants to spirit away the body and deal with other necessary tidying-up. She already had a plan for dealing with his absence, a plan that would further everything else she had in mind.

 

"Bize has left the manor? But for what purpose? Where did he go?" Garrison fumed. That was going to play havoc with their plans for grabbing that list of undercover agents, and would probably screw up their plans for the General as well.

Actor shrugged, "the servants say he had been planning a business trip, though not widely announced. No one is acting as if this is anything unusual, although the General is more than a little annoyed. Madame Bize has taken over the negotiations and has made it clear that she is in possession, and control, of the undercover operation."

"So where does that leave us, Warden?" Casino asked. "Can't use the same con, not with this Bize not even there."

A snort from the doorway brought their attention to the two men just entering. "Don't know for sure he's not there, Casino. Got a feeling he maybe still is. Just, not up to receiving company, you might say," Chief offered.

Garrison frowned; the knowing look on Chief's face and the half-amused one on Goniff's gave him the feeling that he was about to be presented with yet another wrinkle in a plan that had in the beginning seemed to be so simple.

"Took a look-see, just like w'at you wanted, Lieutenant. More than a little activity early this morning. Car left, supposedly with this Bize character be'ind the wheel, but didn't 'ave the right feel, if you know w'at I mean. For one thing, just a bit taller than I'd 'ave thought. Opened the door with the wrong 'and, too, and 'ad those glasses of 'is pulled down to w'ere 'e 'ad to be looking over them, not through them, and 'im supposedly blind as a bat without them glasses. And a few other things. Oh, nothing to remark on, maybe, except the 'ousekeeper, that woman w'at wears 'er 'air all tight under that cap? She was directing a couple of the other servants in burning a pile of trash. Seems one of those things on the 'eap was a mattress and some bedding. And there was some activity in the garden, too; seems they're putting in some new deep beds. REALLY deep, one of them beds was."

Garrison frowned impatiently, "so?"

Casino's eyes got wide, and then he gave a reluctant laugh. "Maybe asparagus?"

By then, only Garrison was still wondering what the hell was so important . . . Then he got it, and his own eyes widened. "You think maybe . . .?"

"Think maybe Bize might - how did Meghada put it - improve the yield eventually. And someone dies on a bed, mattress and sheets are pretty much a lost cause. Question is, did he die all by himself, or did he have help, huh?" Chief asked.

"Actor? What's your take?" only to see the tall Italian frowning in contemplation. 

"You know, that is a very good question, and one we may never know the truth of. But in any case, if Bize is dead, however that came about, that does leave Madame in titular control, at least til someone wrests the reins from her hands, and that might prove rather tempting for the General. The thing is, I do not see her allowing someone to take control, thus the pretense that Bize is still alive, just temporarily away. We may now have a power struggle to deal with, Craig."

"The thing is, can we use that to our advantage?" the young officer mulled. 

 

An invitation to attend a small dinner at the manor had arrived at the hostelry where Garrison and Actor were staying. The two men looked at each other, then Garrison slowly nodded. 

"It might be a trap; it just might be a reply to that little suggestion you dropped in Madame's lap, that you might know of some people able to use her network. She had seemed interested, especially when you mentioned the heavy remuneration possible. It WOULD give her someone to bid against the General."

"I agree, we need to go, but I would suggest we have the men close at hand, Craig. The danger that she might betray us to the General is not the only one we might face. This is not a woman you want to take at face value, as we have all seen."

"True, but what would be her game OTHER than selling us out to the General, maybe to convince him she's loyal to his cause? It's not like we were offering her money up front," Garrison puzzled.

"I do not know, but I still urge extreme caution. She could easily have goals we would have no way of knowing or comprehending," Actor cautioned.

Oh, how right he was!

 

"Don't like it, Chiefy, not one little bit," Goniff fretted, shifting on the damp ground above the manor house. Garrison and Actor hadn't known how long the dinner and conversation was supposed to last, but surely it wouldn't have lasted this late! The lights at the manor had gone dark almost an hour ago, except for a stray one or two on the upper levels. Something had gone wrong; they could all feel it.

"Well, aint like the rest of us do either, ya know," Casino grumbled. "Just, didn't seem any good way to have any of us be with them. This is the best we can do."

Chief didn't reply, being too busy trying to make out a clear path closer to the side of the building. "There, along that deep shadow, we keep to the far side, spread out. There's a door there; the servants were carrying stuff out for the burning through there. Casino, you deal with the lock, if there is one. With what the Warden and Actor told us, we'll have some idea once we get in. We go in, we stay quiet, we keep our ears and eyes open."

He didn't bother to tell Goniff to keep his patty-paws off the collectibles, not with Garrison and Actor possibly in danger. Later, yes, on the exit, he knew the pickpocket might slow down enough to do a little shopping, but not now.

Quickly, quietly, they moved out, three shadows among the deeper shadows, not even a breath of a sound to give them away.

 

The house was quiet, and the only person moving that they could tell was the housekeeper, silently gliding from one room to the next, checking window latches, straightening pillows, tidying her way through the big house. They avoided her easily, and found themselves in the dining room. 

Even in the moonlight they could see something was odd. The elegant table was still set with its equally elegant dishes, candelabras at each end, though no longer lit. Food still sat on the serving dishes, and on the four place settings. 

And that wasn't all. At one of the place settings, there was also the silent form of a man, sitting upright in one of the chairs, staring blankly ahead. The German general.

Casino laid a cautioning hand on Goniff's wrist, Goniff passing the warning back to Chief. They spread out, one to each side of that still form, weapons in hand, while Goniff went around the table to look carefully at what lay in the shadows.

"Blimey! I think 'e's dead!" he whispered, and Chief put out a careful hand to confirm that there was, indeed, no pulse.

"Tell you one thing. Don't you guys go throwing MY women up to me anymore. Actor has a lock on the crazies, you ask me!" Casino muttered, and they really couldn't disagree. Two bodies in two days really WAS a bit much.

That thought led them to their two missing companions, and a chill went up their spines, wondering if Madame was going for a record. 

"Better find the housekeeper; anyone knows where the Warden and Casino are, she'd be most likely to be the one," Chief offered, and the others agreed.

The older woman didn't seem too surprised to see them, not overly concerned either. Much to their surprised relief, she responded to their questions in broken English.

"But of course. They are with my dear Gigi. But I do not think we should disturb them; I know Gigi had such plans. It would be a shame to disappoint her. She has had such a difficult time of it, you see," the woman offered, all in a very congenial, if confiding tone. 

"My daughter has never truly been appreciated as she should be. And while I do not imagine these two new guests will be any better, perhaps they will afford her some small amusement for the evening, perhaps even two or more evenings. She deserves that, don't you agree?" 

The men looked at each other; they were getting a strong feeling of what THEY thought 'dear Gigi' deserved, and some 'amusement' wasn't in the running. Still, it wouldn't do to set the older woman off, not when they needed her help.

"Now, I couldn't agree more . . . Ei, w'at did you say yer name was?"

"Me, I am Claudette Aubuchon," she smiled at him, tilting her head proudly, and he shivered at her smile, the odd look in her eyes.

"Well, now, that's a real pretty name. Claudette, 'ow about you just show us the way to w'ere your Gigi 'as 'er two 'guests'? Want to 'ave a word with them, we do, and maybe your Gigi along with."

To their cautious surprise, the woman shrugged amiably and led them along a long corridor, then another, stopping at a door toward the end of the hall. When Claudette started to open her mouth to call out a greeting, perhaps a warning, Casino quickly gagged her with her own apron, tying her hands and setting her along the far wall, there for her to watch them with wide, though not very concerned eyes.

Trying the door knob, finding it turned easily, Chief moved to open the door a crack. Then, with a snarl, he thrust the door open and rushed through, followed by his teammates. 

"What? What are you doing??" came as a low shriek, a question answered only by a quick backhand by Casino, a blow tossing the diminutive woman to the floor, stunned.

"Blimey!" Goniff breathed, pausing not even a second while taking in the sight before them, hurrying to start untying Garrison, while Chief started cutting Actor's bonds. Casino, gun in his hand, was standing guard in case they were interrupted.

No one asked any questions, made any other comments, just grimly helped the two men staunch the blood, helped them dress, helped them to their feet and started out the door. 

"Wait," Garrison whispered, that being all that his raw throat was capable of managing at the moment. "The list, it's in the safe, behind that picture. Casino . . ."

"Yeah, yeah, I know. Someone make sure those two dames don't kick up a fuss while I get this, alright?"

He made quick work of the safe, thumbed through the contents before tucking them into his shirt, then, at Garrison's directive, shut it again, moving the picture back to conceal the dials.

"W'at about 'er?" Goniff asked. The expression on his face wasn't very promising. Well, it wouldn't be, any more than the looks on the others' faces. 

It turned out Madame Gigi was no longer a problem, at least not of the type she had been before. When they turned her over, her body seemingly boneless, her sightless eyes stared at them, and they gave a joint shudder. The housekeeper, Claudette, had worked her way free of her bonds, and came stumbling in through the door with a wild cry.

"Ma bebe, ma bebe!" she sobbed, throwing herself alongside the limp body of the woman on the floor, pulling her into her arms, rocking her to and fro.

Garrison looked at them for a moment, then whispered, "let's get the hell out of here," taking one look around at a room that had given him and his second in command at least a faint glimpse of their own hell. Goniff was helping him, Casino helping Actor, Chief taking the point. 

"Think maybe . . . ." Goniff was fingering the revolver he had in his hand now, glancing back. Even if it wasn't necessary to 'make sure' of Gigi's departure from this world, it would have been damned satisfying. He'd have that picture in his head for a long time, what he'd seen when he came through that door.

"Knife's quieter," Chief offered, hard look on his face, and Casino nodded in agreement. 

"No, Goniff, guys, we're gone," Garrison ordered, know exactly what was on their pickpocket's mind, on all their minds. Not that he had too many moral objections at this point, but if Claudette started shrieking her head off, the house would turn into a beehive of swarming servants. Sooner or later she was going to come out of her grief-stricken state and do exactly that. He wanted them as far away from here as possible before that happened.

They slipped back into the shadows and were gone as if they had never been there.

 

They'd been gone for almost an hour before the drug wore off and Claudette sat back on her heels. "It is well, ma petite. They are gone and will not be returning. Now, we must make plans ourselves, no? There are things to be done."

The small black-haired woman slowly stirred, sat up, straightened her hair, frowning at the musty taste in her mouth from the drug she'd taken when she knew she'd been discovered. Ever so convenient, so convincing, but nasty to the taste. Perhaps they could work on making it less disgusting before she had to use it next time. Now the one she'd used on Aubert had worked perfectly, and the wine had disguised any taste defect. The General had not seemed to notice anything, but the one she'd used on him was so swift acting, perhaps he just hadn't had time. She did like the side effect of that one, the rigidity of the body that held for several hours; it had been ever so amusing to leave him sitting at the table like that, as if he was just waiting for the next course to be served.

"Oui, ma mere. The General, and various other details. Perhaps there will be an unfortunate fire at the manor? After we remove the valuables, of course?"

Claudette nodded. She and her daughter had always done well together, had much the same goals, thought along the same lines. Toulouse was not the end of the world, not the end of the line. Not for them. After all, they were destined for greatness. They were, after all, Aubuchons.


	5. Thrown Under The Bus

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Back home, mission a success, Garrison and the team walk back into HQ just in time to be presented with new accusations. While the intimations of 'conduct unbecoming' were serious enough, it hardly ended there. Will they, along with Major Kevin Richards and Henri Marchant, be able to come up with the right answers to prevent Goniff from facing murder charges in the death of Garrison's assailant?

The mission had been wildly successful, what with them obtaining the list and General Krause no longer a problem, and while they weren't expecting high praise and the fatted calf when they got back, considering their past experiences, they hadn't been expecting what they DID find waiting for them.

"Leo Blake. I've never heard of him, Major. Why? Is he working for the enemy? And why me?"

"Ah, well, it appears Mr. Blake objected, still objects, to your affair with his wife, Lieutenant. And I must say, it's hardly what I'd have expected from you." 

Actually, Major Richards still couldn't quite believe what the furious Leo Blake had told him, and the accusation of murder now resting at the feet of Goniff Grainger wasn't going to set well at all. It seems Mr. Blake objected to his two hirelings' fate, one dead, the other in military lockup for assult on a military officer. And, unfortunately for everyone involved, Mr. Blake had considerable influence. 

Richards had just managed to hold off a team of MP's being dispatched to take Goniff into custody as soon as he entered HQ; he couldn't hold them off indefinitely, but he at least needed to talk to Garrison first. He had no delusions that the little Cockney pickpocket would go with the MP's peacefully, or that the others would just stand aside and watch without lifting a hand.

Garrison just stared. Of all things he was anticipating, THAT wasn't anywhere on the list! 

"Major, I assure you, whoever Mr. Blake is, whoever Mr. Blake's WIFE is, I am most certainly not having an affair with her! I am currently not having an affair with ANY woman!" He mentally crossed his fingers, since he still hadn't quite figured out what to call his relationship with Meghada, so that might or might not be technically true. And he HAD specified 'any woman', so he didn't even have to consider whether what he had with Goniff qualified as an affair or not.

Richards frowned. Of all the reasoning, excuses, justifications he could have been given, an outright denial, especially one that blunt, wasn't what he'd expected either. Particularly since the gentleman in question was so very sure of his facts, enough to have put into play that very extreme response.

"Well, according to his information you are, and his actions were undertaken in an effort to convince you of the inadvisability of such an affair. He's also brought charges against you, and various others, for kidnapping and false arrest in the matter of the man we took into custody, and charges against your man Goniff for the murder of the one who ended up dead."

Garrison sat down hard. While he might be able to deal with the first part, the second was going to be more challenging. The man WAS dead, after all, and Goniff indeed had pulled the trigger.

"Major, one man came into my hotel room, in disguise, under false pretenses and attacked me. With the obvious intent of kidnapping me. The other came in waving a gun. Goniff protected me from both of them. It is unfortunate the man was killed, but he, they both, were the aggressors. What was Goniff supposed to do, let himself, let me be taken captive, perhaps be shot by some unidentified assailant, possibly an enemy agent?"

"You certainly have a valid point, but interfering in the sanctity of another man's marriage is taken rather seriously, you know, in the civilized world."

"I'm telling you, Major, he's mistaken, or lying, or she is. And if he's so all-fired civilized, a request to meet, to discuss the matter, to clear the air, THAT wouldn't have been a little more civilized than sending two thugs out after me? To spirit me away who knows where to who knows what fate? I would think the military would be a little annoyed at that no matter WHAT the reason for his actions. What with the war effort and all." Garrison was thinking as fast as he could, knowing how much was at stake, but still couldn't resist just a faint hint of sarcasm showing in those last words.

Kevin Richards sat on the corner of his desk, studying Garrison's face with a puzzled frown. {"He certainly SEEMS sincere, and I truly didn't think he was the sort to get involved in that sort of thing. Still, how on earth could Blake be MISTAKEN about something like that? Surely he wouldn't have taken such a drastic step without being one hundred percent sure of the facts."}. 

He considered the other matter, that of the team's pickpocket. Goniff had freely admitting shooting the man, but it seems he hadn't intended to kill him. And it would seem a strong case for self-defense, and defense of his superior officer, could be built. Sergeant Major Rawlins had confirmed the Cockney was a dreadful shot, closed his eyes half the time on the firing range, and whatever that might say to his effectiveness in the field, he wasn't being fielded as a sharpshooter, but for his sticky fingers and second-story work. 

"I've delayed the MP's picking up your man, at least temporarily. Perhaps it's a little late in the game, but I would suggest we do just what you said. Have a face to face with Mr. Blake AND his wife. Perhaps we can get to the bottom of this before the situation deteriorates even further," Richards decided, reaching for the phone on his desk.

It took some convincing, but Major Richards put everything he had into it, and finally got Mr. Leo Blake to agree to a meeting. Whether Mrs. Blake would be in attendance was still unknown, and Richards wondered whether anything would truly be accomplished if she didn't put in an appearance. After all, Mr. Blake had admitted he'd never actually seen his wife's lover.

Appropriately enough, considering, Hotel Marchant was picked as a suitably neutral meeting place. One of the private rooms was set aside - actually, the same room Garrison had been given during that fateful visit. Henri had arranged to stay close at hand, knowing he might be called upon to tell what he knew about that night, and Josef was within earshot as well.

Richards had argued against the team being present, but in the end, relented, though sternly reminding them to keep quiet and not make matters worse than they already were. Blake hadn't liked that, upon hearing of the arrangement, but then changed his mind, said he'd LIKE to get a good look at the man who'd so callously beaten one of his men and killed the other. His insistence that Goniff be kept in handcuffs hadn't gone over well with Garrison or the rest of the team, but the little Englishman had surprisingly agreed. Well, having snaffled the key as soon as the cuffs had been put on, he was confident of his ability to have them off in a thrice if need be. 

"He's late. We did agree on two o'clock, didn't we?" Garrison asked with an anxious frown.

"Yes, and I am sure he will be here. Stay calm. And I meant it, Lieutenant. No outbursts; I can't imagine that would help matters any."

Some muttering came from the corner of the room where the guys were gathered, but nothing loud enough to be understood; well, not if Richards tried extra hard NOT to understand. Nothing he wouldn't have expected, anyway.

Leo Blake came through the door at two fifteen, accompanied by his lawyer. 

"I thought I might as well just cut to the chase and avoid a lot of nonsense," the rigidly polite Blake announced. "I believe you know my wife, Lieutenant Garrison. Far too well, in my opinion."

Garrison replied, politely, crisply, and without hesitation. "Not to my knowledge, sir. I can assure you I'm not having an affair with her, whoever she is."

Blake snorted, turned his head toward the door, speaking loudly, "Max, escort my wife into the room, please."

The door opened and there was another man, with a heavily veiled woman on his arm. Blake ordered crisply, "Marie, lift the veil. Let's see if we can refresh everyone's memory, shall we?"

With trembling hands, the woman lifted the heavy veil, revealing dark brown eyes swollen from crying. Slowly they widened, looking at the men in the room, not paying any more attention to Garrison than to anyone else. She turned to her husband. 

"I don't understand, Leo. You said there was someone you wanted me to become reacquainted with. I don't know anyone here. What IS going on?"

Garrison only hoped his sigh of relief had gone unnoticed. You just couldn't tell sometimes; there could have been a double, even triple game going on. 

Kevin Richards introduced himself, as Leo Blake seemed incapable of speech. "And you do NOT know anyone here, Mrs. Blake? Gentlemen, one by one, step forward and make yourself known to Mrs. Blake, if you would."

And they did so, from Henri Marchant to Garrison to Actor to Casino and Chief, followed by a wide-eyed Goniff complete with handcuffs. Somehow, he'd shrunk a couple of inches, seemed even frail in comparison to the others. And, of course, bewildered innocence was the prevailing overall impression on his face, in his entire demeanor; well, that WAS his intention, after all.

Marie Blake hesitantly accepted each of their greetings, their introductions, but there was no hint of recognition on her face for any of them. 

"I believe we need to ask some questions, but to spare Mrs. Blake any undue blushes, perhaps we might dismiss the majority of the people in the room?" Richards offered.

The guys didn't like it, but they finally agreed, though not going any further than the next room. Goniff stayed, due to his integral part in the matter, along with Garrison, of course, and Henri Marchant, at Garrison's request. Mr. and Mrs. Blake were joined by Mr. Blake's lawyer, but the other man waited outside. 

"Now, to recap what happened on the night in question, just so we are all on the same page. Two men in your employ, Mr. Blake, entered this room. Well, one man at first, in disguise, affecting to be a waiter delivering a meal, attacked Lieutenant Garrison, rendering him temporarily unconscious, and attempted to abduct him. Mr. Grainger, who works with Lieutenant Garrison, arrived in time to prevent the abduction, by means of, I believe, a wine bottle across the back of the head. While Mr. Grainger was attempting to revive Lieutenant Garrison, a second man came in waving a pistol. In defense of himself and the Lieutenant, Mr. Grainger shot and killed the second man. Considering Mr. Grainger is not the best shot in the world, that was quite obviously an unintended result; he was merely attempting to incapacitate the man. Unfortunate, of course."

Mrs. Blake looked at her husband, seemingly totally shocked by that recounting. Whatever he had told her on the way over to the hotel, none of that had been included, obviously.

"Now see here, Richards, do you really expect me to believe your Lieutenant Garrison is an innocent here? Do you really expect me to believe HE," looking at Goniff in disdain, "is the one to strike one burly man unconscious, and shoot the other one between the eyes? By ACCIDENT? You are QUITE sure it wasn't one of the others?" Blake started to bluster. Goniff shrank another inch or two, his blue eyes wide and frightened.

"Didn't mean to kill 'im, I didn't. But my 'and was shaking, you see, and I didn't know 'ow bad the Lieutenant was 'urt, and . . ." looking at Richards for support. Garrison would have applauded if the situation hadn't been so serious.

"One moment, Mr. Blake. Yes, it was indeed Mr. Grainger who came to the Lieutenant's rescue, but to get back to the underlying basis for all of this. I understand you feel your actions in sending those men were justified, based on your information that Lieutenant Garrison was having an affair with Mrs. Blake. May I ask how you arrived at that conclusion? Especially in light of the fact that your wife doesn't seem to recognize Lieutenant Garrison, nor any of his men, and he claims not to know her?"

Blake was stiff as a poker. "I had information she was having an affair. I had her followed several times over the past few months, and she always ended up here, at this hotel. Third Tuesday of the month, as regular as could be. Same damned room even, 219. It only makes sense, whoever took that room on that particular night, again, the third Tuesday of the month, that would be the man she was involved with. And that, Major Richards, was Lieutenant Garrison."

No one was paying much attention to Marie Blake, whose mouth was now parted in sheer astonishment. Her dark eyes were starting to burn with anger. 

Henri Marchant frowned, turned to pick up the phone. "With your permission, I will check the register." Soon there was a knock at the door, and Josef appeared with the registration book from the front desk. Josef whispered something to Henri, who raised his dark eyebrows in interest.

"Ah, just so. Major, 219 is normally rented as a suite, together with the adjoining room 217. And yes, it has been rented, as a suite, over the past few months on the third Tuesday of the month. But not to Lieutenant Garrison. And yes, I know the Lieutenant by sight, as does my staff; they would have noted and remarked if he had registered by a different name. They would also have remarked to me if he had been showing up with such regularity. I assure you that was not the case."

"But that night, there wasn't anyone next door. Goniff checked," Garrison remarked, picking out one particular item of interest.

"No, the reservation had been cancelled, which is why I put you in this room. It is not your usual, I know, but was a step or two up in quality, and it was unlikely for there to be a demand for it at that late date. I find it almost embarrassing to admit, considering all the trouble it caused, but I was trying to show my appreciation for all you are doing for the war effort, Lieutenant."

Blake was still not totally convinced. "So if it wasn't Garrison, who was it? What was the name?"

Marie Blake spoke up for the first time since she'd been introduced, her voice tight with anger. "It was Anthony, Leo. You threw him out, but he is still our son and I still love him very much. You may have elected to be estranged from him; I did not. He had only a few months before he finished his training and was to be sent to fight. His commanding officer allowed him that one night a month as a special courtesy, considering his relationship to us. You DO remember your cousin Clarkson, don't you? Anthony is serving with him, under his command. I received a call that afternoon that he would be unable to meet me; there were no details, but I assume it had something to do with his military responsibilities."

Marie Blake's face was as rigid as her husband's posture had been previously. 

"Anthony McHenry is the name in the register," Henri added.

Leo Blake swallowed, "Anthony McHenry Blake, my, our son. He's eighteen. He wanted to join the RAF; I forbade it. Told him he'd be on his own if he did so without my permission. We fought; I haven't seen him since." 

He turned to his wife, opened his mouth to say, who knows what, but she had already turned away to step closer to Garrison and Goniff.

"Gentlemen, I cannot tell you just how deeply I regret my husband's action, then and now. I won't ask you to forgive us, but I think I can assure you that this will go no farther, at least on our side. Major, surely the cuffs can be removed from this gentleman? He was, after all, only performing his duty, protecting his commanding officer from an unwarranted and unprovoked assult. Perhaps our lawyer might discuss with you whatever responsibility lies with my husband in the matter of that man's death, AND the actions taken against the Lieutenant and his man."

"Jefferson," she turned to the lawyer who had accompanied them, "you DO need to be advised that any fees connected to this matter will be Mr. Blake's sole responsibility; the Carmody coffers will not be broached in his defense, I assure you. If you have any questions, you may inquire of the estate lawyer; I will be discussing this matter, and a great deal more with him when I leave here. In fact, Major, if you have no further need of my presence, perhaps Mr. Marchant would be so good as to obtain a taxi for me?"

Leo Blake listened, stunned, as his wife of twenty years so calmly, seemingly without qualms, threw him under the bus. Whether it was the banishment of their only son, his distrust, or those bruises showing on her wrist and cheek, who knows, but there was no doubt of her intent. She never looked back as she moved purposefully out of the room in the respectful, even admiring, company of Henri Marchant.

Later, over a bottle of whiskey, Richards confirmed, "yes, according to my sources, the property and most of the assets are in trust, for her and her son, as established by Mrs. Drake's father and grandfather. Carmody is their family name. The trust provides Blake with a healthy allowance, based on certain provisions, including her continued good will. Since that good will has now ceased, I imagine the allowance has as well. He has some small assets of his own, but while the Drake name is old and well known, fortune has not always followed it. There had been rumors of discord, through the years, though she never filed for divorce, presumably for their son's benefit. I imagine she was already debating her future, once her son was gone. I rather doubt she is still debating the matter."

"Well, I 'ope 'e aint intending to cozy up to 'er again. Don't think she's in the mood, you know," Goniff remarked, sipping at the whiskey. He'd seen a similar look on his Gaida's face a few times, thankfully never directed at him. He knew it didn't point to anything good.

Casino snorted, "from the look on her face, she'll gut him if he gets within ten feet of her. Did he really kick their kid out on the streets cause he wanted to join up?"

Actor nodded over his pipe, "it would appear so, Casino. Well, according to the Major here, Anthony was the only heir, and if anything happened to him, Mrs. Blake might not have been willing to stay, and again, the money was, at least partially, in his control only as long as she stayed with him. It is ironic, don't you think, that by taking the very action he thought necessary to protect his position, he precipitated a chain of events that now has COST him his position?"

"Well, come along, gentlemen. Let's get out of Henri's hair. I need to get back to HQ; you need to get back to your base. And NO, Goniff, I've already told you, none of this warrants another twenty-four hour leave. Don't you think you got into enough trouble during your last one?"

"Well, I don't see 'ow anyone can be blaming me for all that, Major! You yourself stood right there, telling that Blake fellow 'ow I was just doing my rightful duty, protecting my own commanding officer like I did! Seems that deserves something, especially with me ending up in 'andcuffs and all," Goniff whined in self-righteous indignation, a determined pout on his face.

"Oh, very well. You lot don't have to report back to the Mansion til tomorrow this time. I hope that will suffice, because that is all you are going to get!" Richards huffed at Goniff, half in amusement, half in annoyance, turned and left. 

Amazingly, as soon as he left, Goniff straightened up, and a smug smile of deep satisfaction replaced the woebegone look of before. 

"Well, that went well, don't you think? Now, just 'ow are we going to spend the time between now and then? Know this lovely little pub, not too far. You too, Lieutenant, and no saying 'No'. Do you good to get out and relax a bit, see a bit of the real world outside of ruddy HQ. Take your mind off everything for awhile, it would." 

Garrison just shook his head in rueful acknowledgement of that performance, and stared at the slender Englishman, now at his full height and size, no longer a shrinking, cringing woebegone but every bit the cocky, annoying (endearing) rascal they were beginning to know so well. Actually that plan sounded damned good.

"Yeah, and maybe we can stop back by Maggie McPhee's place; he's got one hell of a cook, and . . ." their safecracker began, only to stop at the shouts of outrage from his teammates and a quick slap on the back of his head from Goniff.

"Told you, I did! You just never listen, now do you, Casino??! None of us are stepping a foot in Maggie's place, and it's all your fault too, and none of us are going to forget it. Don't go around talking just to 'ear my own voice, you know!" 

Garrison just watched, bewildered, not having any idea why McPhee's place was now considered out of bounds. But if Goniff said so, he for one was going to listen, not wanting to experience that sharp thump upside HIS head, and he wasn't sure Goniff wouldn't do just that. To be invited along - no, to be ORDERED along, that he hadn't expected, felt a reluctant grin coming to his face. It seems he was NOT the one in charge, at least for the moment. That was an oddly alluring thought.

They gathered their essentials, confirmed with Henri that they could have two rooms in the private section for whichever of them returned that night, and headed out, Garrison bringing up the rear. Goniff lingered behind just a little, enough that no one heard him murmur ever so low, "and w'en we get back 'ome, Gaida 'as those new maps you're most likely wanting to take a good look at, first thing, and she'll most likely be wanting me to take a 'and in the garden since she's been gone all this time, maybe check the supplies. Could take most of an afternoon and evening, maybe even longer, ei?" 

The smile was offhand, nothing anyone could have read anything into; those blue eyes just shone with innocence. And Craig Garrison found himself laughing out loud, whether in amusement or anticipation, well, only he knew for sure. Although perhaps Goniff had SOME idea, from the sly grin that flashed across his face.


End file.
